


On Death, Deceivement, and Dilection

by tibiafie



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:21:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tibiafie/pseuds/tibiafie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even illusionists can be fooled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Death, Deceivement, and Dilection

Close your eyes, cover your ears, and it still won't change anything. Those screams, that blood, the smell of death, all these things leading up to a grand crescendo of epiphany. Because you could it see it couldn't you? See it clearly where all of us failed, past the pain of your heart breaking and watching that cold, lifeless body, surrounded by pure white. Dig your fingers into your sockets until you bleed, scream until your throat is raw, and still that scene will be as fresh as the day it happened.

You are a cruel one aren't you Vongola? Even if unintentionally it was a cruel trick. And it fooled us all didn't it?  _Stupid herbivores. I'll bite them all to death,_  and my voice goes low, threatening, deadly, and if you could hear you would laugh. I always did like lies better than reality. Pretty things that can hide the wound, at least for a little while. You always said that you disliked my imitations, my illusions, my lies, but you would smile every time. Why is that, I wonder. If you were here, I suppose I'd ask, but then again I doubt I would be reflecting on the paradoxes of your existence if you were still alive. If you asked me why I loved you I would give enigmatic answers, saying first one thing, then another, until you finally would cry out in frustration.  _Mou, forget it then!_  And my voice goes high, light and irritated, to match your own exclamation. If you were here, you would pout at that and refuse to speak to me for days, and I would laugh and laugh. I suppose that's what people call reminiscing about the good ol' days. I wouldn't know, since I never had too many "good days" in the first place. But then again, neither did you, always the "no good" failure, bullied and ostracized. Saying that the days preceding your death were the best ones of your life, truthful a statement as it may be, is rather pathetic nonetheless.

I suppose that I should forgive you. As you are not truly dead, and if all goes according to plan this future won't occur at all, everything going the way it's supposed to be. You will become the Tenth Vongola Boss, and I will serve you, both as a Guardian, and as one who loves you. Which I suppose I do. Love you, that is. It's not exactly a feeling that I'm very used to dealing with, as I'm sure you know.

But still, I'm afraid that I can't quite forgive you yet. Both for tricking me and for making me love. Imagine, tricking  _me,_  master of all deceptions, perfect liar and imitator that I am, you drove me into a blood-lust frenzy from such a simple hoax. And in some way I suppose that that is your fault as well, because if it had not been you who died, or you who I loved, I would have merely laughed and made some comment about the uselessness of  _mafioso._  But it was you who died, and it is you I love, and so, thus.

Love. Such a strange thing it is. I still cannot quite yet wrap my mind around it. Do I love you? I suppose that such a feeling can only be called love. For a time I was quite angry with you, do you know? Because of you I could no longer return to my former peaceful lifestyle. Constantly irritated, angry, nervous, jealous, unable to focus on anything except for you, it really was quite distressing. Even now, those feelings remain, and if anything are multiplied ten-fold. I wonder, if I wrapped my hands around that slim neck of yours, what would you do? What would I feel? Would you trust me so far as to let me kill you? How far, how far could I push your love? Would I feel relieved? Would my love for you die once your eyes bulged in panic and shoved me away from you?

I don't know how to love. What should I do? To have you hate me is enough, I thought. You are far too bright, too brilliant, too pure. I can't stand it. If I drag you down to the darkness with me, you would have to stay then wouldn't you? If I make you hate me, fill your thoughts of everything, that's enough. I'll close your eyes from that light, until you can never stand to see it again. Then you'll stay with me won't you? Don't leave me, don't leave me alone here. It's cold, and dark, I think I must be losing my mind.

Oh, but you're much too kind. You went of your own will didn't you? Down into the dark where I am. You opened your arms and took me in, stained yourself completely unhesitatingly. Even going so far as to try and bring me up to the light. How foolish of you. But now we are stuck in the same place aren't we? In a solid shade of gray, neither bright nor dark.

But there are some things I've realized now, now that you're gone. I won't say dead because you really aren't. You never saw darkness or light, did you? All you saw, all that mattered to you, all that you did anything for, was  _famiglia._  How ironic. Something I sneered at your loyalty for, was the very thing that drew you to me.

I am not a good person. I'm sure you've realized this by now. In fact, if I were you I suppose I would be the last person to choose to love, even as devilishly handsome as I am. So why then? Why did you choose me? And then, the answer, simple and horrifying like a knife to the gut. It was for  _famiglia._  You needed a Guardian, a powerful illusionist, and you needed them to be loyal. I was strong yes, possibly the best illusionist in the world, but I was far from loyal at the time. Is that why? When I was trapping you, were you actually entrapping me? Out of all the outstretched hands that you were offered, you picked mine to take. Was it merely a plot of you and that baby to strengthen the Vongola? How cunning of you, how very  _mafioso._

If someone else were capable of being your Mist Guardian, someone just as strong, just as capable, would you have taken their hand instead? If it were someone like Kyoya, strong and deadly and loyal in his own way, if his flames were indigo instead of violet, would you still have picked me?

"I picked you because I needed  _you,_  Mukuro."

Ah, that's what you said, didn't you? You only said it once, and I can still remember that sound so clearly, the specific cadence of your words, the way your eyes glimmered as you said my name without any honorifics for the first time. That memory is precious because there's only one in the world. I won't imitate it, replicate it, not ever. I haven't fallen so low as to comfort myself with cheap replications of your voice, specters of the times long past.

I suppose, that I will wait. The cogs of this plan are already in motion, the gears falling neatly into place like the pawns we are. I will wait, but I will not forget, nor forgive. Not until you come and tell me yourself. Then I will take you in my arms, lock us in my room and stay there for days. We will talk and laugh and I will tell you how adorably your younger self blushed and screeched in horror whenever we were attacked and then ask you why you stopped blushing, because it really was quite endearing. And you will flush a little at that and tell me to stop acting like such a pervert and I will laugh and kiss you until neither of us can breathe.

Then, maybe, just maybe, after birthdays and anniversaries pass, when we grow old and gray together. Maybe then I will forgive you.


End file.
